Tense
by Rehaniah
Summary: Another Prompt fill for the Dragon Age Kink Meme. Essentially, our put-upon F!Inquisitor is very stressed and tense from all the work she keeps putting on herself. Iron Bull notices and decides to help her relax! Not smutty but does contain swearing - because it's Iron Bull)


**Another prompt, another request that you forgive the errors and spelling mistakes because i'm such a lazy editor! ;)  
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**Prompt: Iron Bull/F!Trevelyan, massage: **So lady!Trevelyan is surprisingly Qunari in mannerisms - that is to say, she does her job, does it well, and doesn't complain whenever something else is heaped on her shoulders to handle. The down side is that she also internalizes all her stress and doesn't open up to anyone, because there's trust and then there's _trust_, am I right?

Cue Bull, who can just see her muscles knotting tighter and tighter with each passing day. Maybe she can't sleep. Maybe she gets stress headaches. Best cure he knows of is a nice, long, full-body massage to work it out.

Bonus points for a rogue Trev (default name is fine). Can be sexual or non (full consent if so, please!), established relationship or just friends. Happy ending (or not!) totally up to you, so long as the end result is a happy, sleepy, relaxed Inquisitor.

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**Tense**

He could tell that she was tense, fatigued, stressed – who wouldn't be? She had the weight of the entire world on her shoulders. _Literally_. She'd been lumped with a title and position that she hadn't wanted, hadn't in her wildest dreams ever _imagined_ she'd have, all because some freaky mojo magic had decided to attach itself to her hand, and because of that, she'd been effectively elevated to Saviour of the Whole Freaking World.

He'd be stressed too.

The only problem was; she was good at hiding it. Too good.

So good in fact, that had she been about 700 pounds heavier with a couple of horns stuck on her head, she would've made a damn fine Ben-Hassrath agent. For there weren't many who could carry such a demanding load and still maintain an air of strong, competent efficiency.

But _she_ did.

And whilst he could readily admire such a skill, it wasn't exactly doing her any favours. Everyone from Mother Big-Wig to the freakin' undergardener seemed to see her as the one –the _only_ one– able to sort out problems. Which, he supposes, would be fair enough if said problems were to do with the actual Inquisition or the fate of the world in general, but when it came to dealing with someone stealing potatoes from the kitchens or some snobby noble wanting a personal meeting just so he could say he'd met the damn Herald of Andraste, then that, by his reckoning, was a severe case of taking the piss.

But she never said no. So concerned was she with doing all she could to keep up morale and do her best for The Cause that she took it all upon her own back… And it seemed that only Bull could see the real toll it was taking on her. Only he could discern the way her shoulders seemed to remain in an almost permanent hunch these days, and the stiffened way she would rise up from a seat or the way she'd drag her hand over the back of her neck when she thought no one was looking in an attempt to loosen the knotted, fraught muscles underneath.

He'd wager she was depriving herself of sleep as well, judging by the dark circles that seemed to be growing under her eyes and the fact that she spent so much time running around the hold...

And why was _he_ able to discern all this when so many others had not? Simple: Iron Bull was Ben-Hassrath, educated by the very best since birth, and he knew how to read people. More than that, he knew how to read the things that people didn't want him to know, or even didn't realise themselves.

In normal circumstances, such knowledge would be used for his own advantage or those he happened to be working for. But when it came to the people Bull himself cared about, he used that knowledge in a very different way.

…

He barely has to wait ten minutes after slipping into her room, his assumption at her needing to stop in at her quarters before heading on to her other self-imposed tasks a correct one.

Even from this distance, he could hear the tired heaviness of her footsteps – he wouldn't be surprised if she routinely cursed whoever decided to put her room at the top of two flights of stairs. He certainly would. _Although_, he thinks idly as he glances about the luxurious living space, the sunlight pouring in through the large balcony doors, _it was a pretty nice pad – aside from the walk-up._

His gaze turns back to the stairs as he hears the sound of a hefty sigh being released, followed by the sound of someone muttering under their breath: "I swear, it'd be easier to have a room in the stables than to have to keep walking up to the top floor each time I happen to need a change of clothes."

As the Inquisitor reaches the final step of the staircase, she lays a tired hand on the banister so as to all but pull herself up onto the landing, clearly unaware that she wasn't alone.

When Bull moves, rising from his seat on the bed and alerting her to his presence, she jumps and lets out a startled yelp, her hands instantly flying into a fighting stance (_Good girl_, he thinks approvingly).

Almost immediately though, her alarmed gaze turns to one of recognition and her arms drop back down to her sides. "Bull," she exclaims. "Sweet Andraste, you scared me half to death!"

"Sorry, Boss," he replies easily. "Didn't mean to give you a shock – even though that's not exactly an unfamiliar reaction when it comes to people seeing me. There's usually more screaming, though."

Her expression turns to one of sympathy – not a patronising sort, mind you. It was just because his Inquisitor thought that everyone should be treated equal no matter how they happened to look. A noble view but sadly one that all too few in Thedas shared.

Refocusing on the reason he'd sought her out, he questions: "You gotta sec?"

Her gaze still remains slightly surprised but she readily answers. "Err, sure. Of course." She turns to place the rolls of paper she'd been carrying on the corner desk (reports for her to look over probably – either that, or she'd added messenger service to her list of undertakings) and then walks over to him.

With a wave of her hand she indicates for him to sit back down on the bed as she perches herself on the nearby couch. Looking at him intently, she questions, "Is there something wrong? Are you alright?"

He almost wants to laugh at her. She really was far too occupied with everyone else's concerns and comfort, those big elven eyes so earnest and attentive as they looked at him. He promptly reassures her, "Oh, I'm fine, Boss," before adding, "But I do think we have a problem."

And just there: that flash behind her eyes, lasting less than a heartbeat but there none the less. It was the dread at being confronted by yet another problem for her to fix. Had he been anyone else he wouldn't have noticed anything, the tell-tale slip was gone so quickly, and when she speaks, her voice betrays not a hint of it.

"What is it?" she asks intently.

"Well," he replies, with a deep seriousness, "it's about a member of the team."

He watches as her brow creases with unease, the frown only becoming more prominent as he continues. "I think one of our crew is overdoing it, and if they don't slow down, then we might soon be dealing with a serious case of Burnout. Or worse."

The Inquisitor's lack of proper military experience comes out when she questions worriedly: "What's that?" Most people who'd spent any amount of time as a soldier would know, or at least of heard, about what burnout was. As it stood, his Inquisitor's only real experience of military life had come about after she'd been given the mark and whilst she'd picked up a an awful lot, there were still some things that she didn't recognise the danger of.

"You see burnout a lot in Ben-Hassrath," he explains. "What basically happens is that an agent is good at their job. Very good. Exceptionally good. So much so that everyone begins to view this agent as a kind of shit-wagon for any and all problems what come along. Instead of dealing with such problems themselves, they instead pile all the crap onto this one person because they believe that that person will make the best decision. See, their intentions are good, don't get me wrong, but what they don't realise is that the one they're piling all this crap on can only do so much themselves and if they don't realise their own limitations and don't take the time to look after _themselves_ rather than _everyone else_, well then, it's only a matter of time before they collapse under the weight. Or go completely insane and kill everyone in a mad, naked rage." He shrugs his broad shoulders dismissively, "I've seen both happen."

"Oh Maker, that's terrible," his Inquisitor breathes, shock and horror plainly visible across her entire face, her statement almost immediately followed by the heartfelt demand: "Well, tell me who it is so we can get them some help! Oh wait, is it Solas? I really thought he was spending too much time researching – or is it Cassandra? Do y'know, every time I see her she's training new recruits or fielding Mother Giselle's questions – oh wait, no! It's Cullen, isn't it? I _knew_ he was taking on too much, putting himself under too pressure–"

With a roll of his eyes, Bull suddenly lashes out to take hold of her shoulders, the abrupt action halting her frantic voice and making her head snap up to look at him.

"Boss, it's you," he says plainly and clearly, holding her eyes firmly with his own.

There's the briefest pause as his statement sinks in and then the incredulous exclamation: "Me?" Her pale features reveal only genuine confusion as she stammers, "No, Bull, you must be mistaken. I'm fine – really."

She attempts to shrug off his grip on her shoulders but he doesn't allow her to and when she stands up defensively, he does so too. He'd prepared himself for her to fight him on this, knowing that his words wouldn't be something she'd want to hear.

"Boss, I'm only saying this for your own good," he starts.

"Bull," she holds up her hands, "I know you mean well and I'm grateful for your concern, really, but I assure you, I'm fine." She gestures towards the desk, "But I really do have to look into those reports so if you don't mind…" She goes to duck under his arm since he clearly wasn't letting her go.

He lets out a deep sigh before rumbling lowly, "Yeah, I figured it'd go like this." Without any hint of warning, he hunches down to pick her entire form up into arms.

"Bull!" she cries, "What are doing?!" Her hand hits him angrily on the chest, but she seems too dismayed to put any real pressure behind it and before she has time to gather herself for another one, he's flung her face down onto the bed.

Not allowing a single moment to attack him –because he knows that a moment is all she needs (she may be small in body, but by fuck, could she pack a punch)– he pitches himself onto the mattress, anchoring his knees either side of her legs so that she couldn't rise and couldn't lash out.

Beneath him, her shouting was one of the loudest he'd ever heard: "Bull, what on Thedas are you doing?! Get off me – NOW!"

He presses his large hands against her shoulders, leaning over her to say above her ear, in an entirely calm voice, "Now, Boss, this is only for your own good. I ain't willing to just watch you work yourself into the ground. You've got the whole damn world to save after all, and if you don't start looking after yourself, we're all gonna be in the shitter."

Her thrashing, albeit restricted, struggles lessen just slightly as she turns her head more to the side in order to say over her shoulder at him. "Bull, this is crazy. I want you to _get off_ me. I promise you, I'm fine. Everything's fine and I don't know where you got this idea–"

"Uh-huh," he interrupts whilst deciding to get right down to it, since she obviously wasn't going to be reasoned with properly. With his hands still on her shoulders he presses his large thumbs into the hard muscle underneath her tunic, giving enough pressure so as to get right down beneath the skin.

"Bull, what– _ah!_" Her ireful demand abruptly halts at the unaccustomed sensation being bestowed on her. He feels her body go still, almost even more tense than when he started, but as he keeps working his thumbs in just the right way, he begins to feel her –very warily– relaxing.

"That's it," he rumbles encouragingly down at her, bringing his other fingers into play now that he wasn't having to physically hold her still.

He can still sense the waves of confusion, almost suspicion, rolling off her form but gradually, as he kept smoothing and kneading at the hardened flesh that so desperately needed it, he sees her head resting more and more easily on the pillow in front of her, her eyes no longer wild and wide, but heavy, blinking slowly and lethargically.

When his penetrating fingers encounter a particularly solid knot, she can't help but release a sharp "Ugh," of pleasure.

Too bad her face promptly flushes a brightened red, her eyelids flying up as she begins to stutter embarrassedly: "Err–"

"It's okay, Boss," he soothes, before she can make excuses for what she probably saw as a humiliating sound. "You're supposed to enjoy it."

Her embarrassed expression fades a little, but her eyes remain open. "And… what exactly is this, Bull?" she questions cautiously, almost hesitantly.

"You don't know what a massage is, Boss?" he responds in a playful tone.

He feels body rise and fall as the huff of indignation leaves her mouth. "Yes, of course I know what a massage is," she retorts. "It's just that… Well, I didn't know – I mean didn't realise that, well, that you were, err…" her voice trails away uncertainly.

"Ben-Hassrath training, remember, Boss?" Bull explains. "I know how to give people what they need, when they need it."

There's a short, contemplating pause before she speaks again. When she does, her tone is light, and laced with a touch of irony. "And does Ben-Hassrath training include lessons on how to give massages to the troops?"

He gives a small chuckle. "Only for those who deserve them. Who take on too much without realising that they have limitations, that _everyone_ has limitations." His latter sentence holds a note of chastisement, of warning. One which, thankfully, seems to sink in.

He feels the body beneath him move as she lets out a deep sigh. "Are you saying that I _shouldn't_ investigate who the erstwhile potato-stealer of Skyhold is?"

He lets out another chuckle before leaning over her back so as to murmur into her pointed ear: "I'm sure that the place won't fall down around our ears if you don't."

She gives an amused smile before repositioning her head back against the pillow.

She lies quietly for a while, her expression peaceful before she says his name questioningly. "Hey, Bull?"

"Yeah, Boss?" he replies whilst his hands continue to focus on their work.

"Thank you." The two words are imbued not just with the normal level of sincerity with which she seemed to travel through life, but with a deep, genuine gratitude, and an acceptance of the reason behind his actions.

"Your welcome, Boss," he assures, with just as much genuineness.

He continues to watch with satisfaction as the look of appreciation and relaxation remains across her features, and from the loosened suppleness which he feels developing in the flesh underneath his fingers.

Indeed, she looked on the verge of falling asleep under him, so unwound had he managed to make her… right up until he decides to remark, his ever easy-going way:

"You know, Boss, this feels even better with all your clothes off."


End file.
